Are You Treasure Or Are You Junk In Your Life With Chronic Pain?

Here in the Northwestern part of the USA we are experiencing the debris of last year’s tragic and phenomenal earthquake in Japan March 11, 2011. News reporters tell us to expect debris, both large and small bits to arrive during the next few years. Bits and pieces of human lives which endure far beyond the once living keep floating ashore. The Governor of Washington state stated today on the news, “We’re in for a steady dribble (of this debris) over the next few years.” One “bit” of dribble that floated in recently and landed on a sandy beach in southern Oregon was a Japanese dock the size of a boxcar. The salvage company is expected to make approximately $84,000 to remove it. One of the concerns about the salvage of all these items, both large and small, is the effect the invasive marine life, such as new varieties of seaweed, oysters and other tiny organisms will have on the West coast. There is concern about one variety eating another or certain seaweeds choking oyster beds. It seems we are all the possible victims of the theory that more or less states we are all someone’s lunch.

I suppose the lessons to be learned for those of us with chronic diseases and chronic daily pain is that we will also leave much debris behind. Just looking at images of that Japanese dock one has to wonder about the feet that walked on it, the living that was earned by fishermen, and the wives who brought lunch to the men who docked and set sail from there. Did small children run along the surfaces waiting for the boats to return with their catch of the day?

All of us love the “debris” and the odd bits and pieces of our lives. Our cars, our homes, our pictures, and our family memorabilia are part of who we are. Our lifestyle may change with the onslaught of chronic pain and often because of that, we make these decisions about the change. For instance, I have to put this tush onto a comfortable seat when I get into any kind of vehicle. That’s my priority when buying a car. I go out po-po or butt shopping. No, I can’t buy a new one, rear end I mean; wish I could. Instead, like the fairy tale of the Princess and the Pea, I try each seat on for comfort and size. No size jokes please. Like most of you, my comfort is a priority in most areas of my life. We all go outside the parameters when we are called on to do something we must or really want to do but we all learn there will be a check presented after the event and try to make the decision early on as to whether or not it will be worth it. I know the definition of madness, or is it stupidity, is to continue to perform actions which we know do not work for us? The moron who keeps hitting his head against the wall, soon has a headache or a concussion. Is he stubborn or just plain stupid? Eventually, he’ll be brain damaged and the other questions won’t matter, but the wall will still be there.

We’ve all heard versions of the expression, “One man’s treasure is another man’s junk.” I was reminded of that expression recently as I’ve been going through much of what my deceased mother-in-law and sister-in-law left behind. My husband is the last member of his family and all of the memorabilia and collections of both of their lives have been left in our care. There is only one 90 year-old uncle with whom we’ve shared pictures and actually given anything he wanted. Yesterday I hauled the grandchildren into my SUV and took a few things down to a local, small jewelry store. The gent in there appraises items very inexpensively and I had some questions about the value of a few items of jewelry. I also left here with explicit instructions to the children that we would definitely not go into the toy store next door to the jewelry store. I can’t be trusted to go in there with them because they always win and I leave there a bit poorer. At first glance, the jeweler said, “Oh it mostly looks like costume jewelry to me.” I corrected him quickly because I know from my own and a friend’s perusal that there are some items of value. The true value is in the memories. Several old wedding rings, worn almost completely thin, are among the more glittery purchases. I wish I knew the stories that lay in the fingers those rings once adorned. The lives that were lived wearing those rings were interesting, I know. Alas, those stories and in some respects, those lives are gone forever. It makes some of our daily problems seems a bit small and inconsequential, to observe the remains of lives who loved, and lived. It was their time; this is ours.

So often, those of us who live with chronic pain become deeply wedged into our way of life, our misery and our limitations and forget, life is to be lived in any form we are given. We have a responsibility to live it as well as we can for those who left us behind. We share that responsibility and obligation to those who gave their lives for our beloved country over the years through war or service. Life is what we make it; treasure or junk. I know. That statemen angers some who want to wallow. After you wallow for a bit, get up, dust off your pride and figure out how to overcome what you can and live with what is left. Time’s awastin’. Life may not return to what it once was but it is still most precious of all objects in your life. Don’t let yours be debris.

Treasures by Sue Falkner-Wood
He takes it to bed each night
At grandma’s house,
The small dirty pouch
No larger than his hand.
Soft leather worn dingy by age
Closed by a worn shoelace.

All of his treasure lay within.

A turquoise stone sent by Uncle Hank
From a trip to the Grand Canyon.
Assorted bits of rock
All of his favorite marbles,
Among them a red and white aggie
And his best green glass shooter.

A bobber
A rusty, barbed fish hook
Tiny bits of fish flesh attached
Amidst odd bits of fishing line.
A tiny, ragged gull feather
Gathered from a walk on the beach
With Dad,
Minute bits of sand still clinging.

A copper penny
Crushed flat by the trolley
From a Sunday ride
On a glorious summer day,
Filled with life and family joy.

A shabby remnant of silk
Now a soiled floral rag
Once a yellow scarf ‘worn round her neck.’
Her fragrance still lingers there.

The ragged and tattered bits
Of a newspaper article,
Now wrinkled and worn
From a year of being examined
Again and again.

Each time he reads it
He prays
This time it will not be true.

In his dreams it is a spring day
They arrive in the driveway
Groceries to unload.

Mom is smiling as she
Flips her blond hair
Away from her pretty face,
Yellow scarf around her neck,
Dad with his baseball cap askew
Calls out, “Hey Buddy, come help unload.”

That day in his dreams
Is not cloudy and frosty
Dad’s truck did not slip
The ice once treacherous
Is melted
Leaving behind a harmless puddle.

Each morning he awakes
Hoping it was just a dream.

He cups his treasures in his small hands
Precious pieces of immortality
All he can understand
Corporeal
Material
Tangible and real.

Tomorrow, perhaps,
On awakening
Everything will be back
The way it was.

Tomorrow is a new day my friends. May be the same old us but it’s a new day. Make the most of it, for yourself if for no one else.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sue Falkner-Wood

Sue Falkner-Wood is a retired registered nurse living in Astoria, Ore., with her husband, who is also an R.N. Sue left nursing in 1990 due to chronic pain and other symptoms related to what was eventually...read more